


Multiples of Nah

by boonies



Category: JYJ (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaejoong, a temporary incubus, is tasked with knocking up a human. Yoochun, an actual human, is just really not into that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"So basically," the demon king says, poring over the rulebook, glasses askew, "those are your only two options."

 

Jaejoong stares.

 

"But," he gestures wildly, incoherent with outrage, " _you_ screwed up."

 

The demon king waves one indifferent claw and shifts in his throne, fire lapping at his hooves. "It was an administrative mistake."

 

Jaejoong's dead.

 

Jaejoong's dead because of an administrative mistake.

 

"You can stay dead," the demon king clarifies and closes the book with a great big thump, perking up, "or you can go make me a cute little cambion."

 

"A what."

 

The demon king sighs.

 

"A baby. Go make a baby."

 

 

*

 

 

"Spin it," an administrator says, forked tail swishing by its hairy feet.

 

In denial, Jaejoong glances at the giant barnacle-encrusted wheel teeming with literal question marks.

 

"This is the fun part," the administrator complains with a nudge to Jaejoong's shoulder. "Pick your form, come on."

 

Horrified, Jaejoong pauses, eyeing the lever.

 

Three days ago, he was a regular dude minding his own business.

 

And now he's dead.

 

Jaejoong is too young and too beautiful to stay dead.

 

So he wraps shaky fingers around the handle and pulls.

 

The wheel pivots with a freakish kind of silence, engulfed in flames.

 

"My personal favorite are incubi," the administrator chatters away obliviously, head swiveling to follow the spins. "They get all the pretty—"

 

The wheel stops.

 

A peg ticks over.

 

Theatrically, one question mark fades to reveal a shimmering _incubus_.

 

"Aw," the administrator mumbles with an envious sulk. "You'll get to visit her every night now, no fun—"

 

"—visit _who_ —" Jaejoong demands desperately.

 

Already bored, the administrator proffers a digital tablet, screen set to something resembling a fingerprint scanner.

 

"It's gonna match you automatically," he tells Jaejoong, boasting, "new tech, we just got it delivered three days ago," the app fails to load for an uncomfortable beat, "...well, obviously we're still working some bugs out."

 

The company logo finally clears.

 

Nervous, Jaejoong presses his thumb to the screen.

 

The tablet buffers, searching.

 

With an almost instant chime, it pulls up a name and a professional headshot.

 

The administrator squints one eye, jaw slack.

 

"...well, fuck."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sleep-deprived, Yoochun launches himself at the couch.

 

The dressing room door slams shut behind him.

 

With barely restrained delight, he hugs his pillow, script cutting into his cheek, and groans like a dying bear cub.

 

He shouldn't have done it.

 

He shouldn't have accepted the drama.

 

There's literally nothing in this world worse than—

 

A soft knock sounds at the door.

 

Eyes narrowed, Yoochun shifts to glare.

 

The noise repeats and then the door is opening and a guy, too scrawny and too blond, is poking his head in.

 

He doesn't look like a sunbae so Yoochun lifelessly burrows back into the pillow, preferring the path of least resistance slash most avoidance.

 

"Park Yoochun," the guy says and Yoochun sighs.

 

"Yes," he murmurs obediently and slowly sits up, rubbing his eyes in surrender. "I thought they said a five-minute break was okay."

 

The guy hesitates, then pulls out his phone and stares for a long moment.

 

"So, I'm Jaejoong, hey," he introduces himself after a reluctant informal pause and approaches with purpose, slipping the phone into a loose jean pocket, "and there was an administrative mistake."

 

Yoochun stands up too fast, lightheaded, and steadies himself against Jaejoong's shoulder. "With the script or—"

 

"I have to put a baby in you," Jaejoong says with a forlorn sigh and reaches out to aggressively unbutton Yoochun's shirt.

 

"Okay, well, for one," Yoochun huffs, ducking, "I'm a dude."

 

Impatient, Jaejoong purses his lips.

 

"I spun the wheel," he recaps, sounding traumatized, "and then the tablet said it has to be you," his fingers flex, back at his sides, "please, I don't want to stay dead."

 

Tense, Yoochun furtively pats himself down for his phone, because while delusional fanboys are mostly harmless, not a single one's threatened to put a baby in Yoochun before, so—

 

"Please, Yoochun-ssi," Jaejoong pleads angelically, cupping Yoochun's cheeks.

 

"Yeah, no thanks," Yoochun declines and ushers the lunatic out, surprised to find himself struggling physically.

 

The door clicks shut.

 

A second later, Jaejoong ghosts back in through the wall.

 

 

*

 

"...so you're sure I'm not hallucinating."

 

Sad, Jaejoong takes a sip out of Yoochun's thermos. "Unless we're both hallucinating..."

 

"This is the _only_ way to get your body back?" Yoochun asks for the sixth time, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, ears on alert for irresponsible staffers. "...is this a makjang," he mumbles under his breath, fist clenched at the injustice, prepared to valiantly right some wrongs, "is your real body lying in a coma somewhere—"

 

"No," Jaejoong whines, sniffling into the thermos, "this is my real body. It just has an expiration date."

 

"...yeah," Yoochun drawls, "so does mine."

 

Jaejoong gives him a pitiful pout, sudden aura of blooming wild lilies sparkling behind him, brightening the corridor.

 

"I have a little brother," Yoochun warns. "I'm immune to guilt traps."

 

Eyes darkening, Jaejoong crushes Yoochun's thermos.

 

 

*

 

 

Yoochun collapses into bed at 4:00 AM.

 

His sheets are cold and his pillow is also cold and his blanket is burning hot.

 

Startled, he tries to roll off but finds himself trapped in a cage of inhumanely warm limbs.

 

"What if I just do it anyway," Jaejoong cautions and tangles his legs around Yoochun like an oyster shell.

 

"Threats won't work either," Yoochun yawns, squirming. "I know you need my consent."

 

Jaejoong turns away, brooding.

 

  
*

 

 

"If you let me," Jaejoong greets in the morning, lying next to Yoochun, bathed in sunlight, toying with a lock of Yoochun's hair, "I'll definitely find a way to pay you back."

 

Disinterested, Yoochun flicks him off.

 

"Listen," he murmurs, sleepy, "I get that you're going through your five stages of grief and everything, but I have a drama to shoot."

 

"...will you let me make a baby after you finish filming," Jaejoong asks hopefully.

 

Yoochun kicks him off the bed.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"He doesn't want to."

 

The administrator blinks rapidly. "What do you mean."

 

Jaejoong flings himself at a tall heap of bones, offended. "He doesn't want to have a kid with me."

 

"Okay," the administrator dismisses him idly, "who cares?"

 

Jaejoong sits up. "You said I need consent."

 

"...you're an incubus," the administrator snaps its tail with an oddly supportive moue, "literally, no one can resist you."

 

"He's resisting me..." Jaejoong points out, uncomprehending.

 

The administrator gestures, tail swishing helplessly.

 

"...then lie."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Your place is probably closer," Yoochun tells an overly-flirty noona, surreptitiously inspecting her to make sure she's not a succubus in disguise, "right. You have a place, right. Human place. Because you're a human."

 

"Aw," noona smiles coyly and digs her nails into his forearm, guiding him down the street toward his car, "I'm sure your place is nicer, all fancy and warm—"

 

"Mine has unlimited heat," Jaejoong says from behind.

 

Yoochun whirls around, prepared.

 

Triumphantly, he sprinkles a whole thing of holy water, courtesy of Junsu, at Jaejoong's chest.

 

Jaejoong sighs, unaffected.

 

Frowning, Yoochun examines the vial with disappointment.

 

"You have to," Jaejoong says patiently, "or you'll die, too."

 

"What," Yoochun asks, fingers curling around the empty vial.

 

"What," noona echoes, clinging to Yoochun's arm.

 

Jaejoong politely peels her off. "If you don't have my baby, you'll die."

 

"ME?" noona panics, bewildered, and tries to make her way back to Yoochun.

 

Jaejoong ignores her thoroughly, putting up some weird shimmery barrier around them.

 

"Yoochun," he coaxes, seeming genuine. "I don't make the rules."

 

"Fine," Yoochun clenches his jaw, "prove it."

 

 

*

 

 

"Why," Yoochun growls and deletes noona's number from his phone, praying she doesn't have Dispatch on speed-dial, then stomps down the street, searching for his car, "why would _I_ die."

 

"Administrative—" Jaejoong starts boyishly, flanking him like a shadow, keeping perfect pace.

 

"—mistake," Yoochun groans, rough and frustrated, clutching at his head.

 

Jaejoong pauses, squirming.

 

"Don't you..." he starts carefully, changing gears. "I read your last four... ty interviews. You kept saying you want kids."

 

"Yes," Yoochun spins around furiously, "when I'm married _to a woman who will give birth to them_."

 

"Well," Jaejoong pouts, the picture of actual demonic recklessness, "that's not very fair to the woman."

 

At his limit, Yoochun loses it. "WHY CAN'T _YOU_ BE THE LITTLE SPOON."

 

Jaejoong grins. "I don't make the rules."

 

 

*

 

 

"How would it even work," Yoochun asks at 1:00 AM, curled on his side.

 

Jaejoong, who's invaded and appropriated Yoochun's bed as though he bought it, mirrors him, one arm tucked under his cheek. "I don't know. How does phasing through walls work."

 

"Would..." Yoochun muses tentatively, "...the kid look weird."

 

Jaejoong pauses, studiously avoiding Yoochun's eyes.

 

Yoochun cringes.

 

Fuck, his kid's gonna have horns.

 

"And who's gonna raise it," Yoochun adds with a despondent mumble, picturing some deformed hellspawn addressing them as Dad and Also Dad.

 

Jaejoong scowls.

 

"...did you... not think this through," Yoochun asks, realization slowly dawning.

 

"...I," Jaejoong defends, "was very preoccupied with not dying."

 

Unsympathetic, Yoochun stares.

 

"But it doesn't matter," Jaejoong continues persuasively, arranging his features into a composed sort of aloofness, "since I won't remember any of this when I go back to being human."

 

Yoochun scowls, a sharp pang of resentment corkscrewing through his chest.

 

"I'LL remember it," he grunts, displeased. "At this point, what's wrong with you just staying dead—you said hell isn't even all that bad—"

 

Adorably, Jaejoong curls up, pulling the sheets up to his chin. "It's a little cold for me..."

 

 

 

*

 

 

At 2:00 AM, Yoochun gruffly kicks at Jaejoong's shin.

 

"How weird would the kid be."

 

Jaejoong's eyes refuse to open. "Probably really weird."

 

"How horrible would my death be if I said no," Yoochun proceeds.

 

"Super horrible."

 

"I'm not agreeing," Yoochun warns, because he's an actor and a guy and the logistics of popping out a kid are making him nauseated, "but I'll consider—"

 

Jaejoong lunges for him.

 

"— _consider finding you an alternative_ —" Yoochun grits out, fending him off.

 

 

 

*

 

 

"No," Junsu says, crosses himself, and sends a quick prayer at the ceiling.

 

"You didn't hear the whole story," Yoochun insists stubbornly.

 

"Yeah, you lost me at 'he wants to put a baby in me'."

 

"I'd just have to wear a hoodie for maybe three, four months," Yoochun reasons, words spilling out in a rush, "and then I could say I adopted the thing—hopefully without horns—and the public and my mom would be so—"

 

"Yoochun," Junsu reminds solemnly, "where's it gonna _come out of._ "

 

Yoochun pales. "Magical portal nowhere near me?"

 

"...you haven't been this stupid since we were six," Junsu sighs, turning to stare out the window, "and you tried to marry that idiot next door."

 

A fond wistful grin tugs Yoochun's lips up.

 

"What ever happened to—" Junsu mutters, clearly reminiscing, then shakes it off. "Look, it'd be better to call his bluff and wait it out."

 

"But what if I die," Yoochun whines.

 

"We all have to die eventually," Junsu lectures piously, "so I'd recommend doing so without pooping out a—"

 

 

*

 

 

"Yoochun," Jaejoong calls out sorrowfully, "Yoochunnie."

 

Startled, Yoochun adjusts the showerhead and cranes his neck out of the stall, squinting through the shampoo matting his bangs down.

 

Jaejoong sidles up to him, partially-obstructed by the steam, dressed like a rebellious toddler.

 

"Yoochun—" he greets with a mournful little pout, gaze slipping to the small of Yoochun's back, almost palpable in its intensity, then glances down Yoochun's wet naked ass with a soft little, "...ah."

 

Yoochun freezes and shifts his weight, thighs slick with soap.

 

Jaejoong's been cockblocking him for two weeks.

 

Which is the only reason Yoochun goes stupid and asks, "Hypothetically, how much sex would we have to have to—"

 

"So much," Jaejoong rasps greedily and pins him to the wall.


	2. Chapter 2

"...are you..." Junsu asks as though he's addressing a temperamental harpy, "...with child..."

 

Mortified, Yoochun fans himself with the script like a deranged hummingbird, some kind of internal hellfire burning the grass below his feet, and grits out, "No."

 

"You're not!" Junsu perks up, trailing behind.

 

"No," Yoochun confirms, certain his official death certificate, obituary, and tombstone will all say _died of shame_ because this morning, all Jaejoong did was pin him to the wall and Yoochun just fucking spilled all over himself like a trigger-happy champagne bottle, completely untouched, and for a decidedly straight guy—an experienced, healthy adult— " _No_."

 

"Oh, thank god," Junsu breathes out, relieved, and clutches his heart with a tiny grateful half-kiss at the sky.

 

"Yeah, 'cause I shot my load before he even touched me," Yoochun amends, irritated, and clenches a sullen fist, ego bruised, pride challenged, "so I pushed him off and went to work and left an actual incubus probably whacking it in my shower—"

 

"Noooo," Junsu wails in agony, shielding his eyes, then—belatedly—his ears, "I didn't ask for any of that information—"

 

 

*

 

 

"So if I had a kid out of wedlock," Yoochun asks his mother, tense, cautious, "how mad would you be."

 

As though summoned, Yoohwan skids into the kitchen, almost wrecking his toes, and casually hops onto the counter, situating himself like an old house cat sensing disaster, chin practically in his hands with anticipation.

 

"...a baby..." Yoochun's mother repeats robotically, lowering a dry plate back into the soapy sink, "out of wedlock."

 

Panicking, Yoochun opens his mouth to retract the question, fear of disappointing his mother and shaming his family in general a heavy crushing weight atop his shoulders, but his mother silently wipes her hands on her apron, lumbers over to a seldom-used cabinet, and ransacks it.

 

A mess of yarn flumps to the kitchen table.

 

"These," she explains, entranced, and presents the loot as though intent on making a sizable sale, "are the baby booties I knitted," she nods, "and these are the baby booties Yoohwannie knitted," Yoohwan sends him a quick _you're welcome bro_ salute followed by a cocky tongue click, "and this is fresh yarn so you can knit some baby booties, too—"

 

"She won't be mad," Yoohwan translates with an amused grin, kicking his feet against the counter.

 

Yoochun stares.

 

"Even if I'm not married—" he starts slowly, uncomprehending.

 

"Yoochunnie," his mother says, out of focus, "no offense, but I gave up on that twenty-four years ago."

 

Offended, Yoochun scowls.

 

Because he's been dating a lot of women and okay, sure, not totally successfully, but to imply—

 

"Is it because of my hair," he asks, examining his bangs with distaste, "because I can get that fixed after the drama wraps—"

 

"Yoochunnie," his mother cuts in with a sigh, "it's because you told us you'd only marry that little Kim boy and then you made poor little Junsu throw you a wedding in his attic..." her expression grows distant, traumatized, "and then you both asked—very nicely—if we could give you Yoohwan so he could be your baby..."

 

Yoohwan pales. "...did you give me away to be their baby..."

 

Their mother glances away guiltily. "...Yoohwannie, they were just so cute..."

 

 

*

 

 

"Ah—this morning," Yoochun greets awkwardly when Jaejoong phases into his dressing room, looking sleepy and disheveled, "that was—I'm still looking for ways to help you but I'm not going to—I mean—compromising situations are—clothes need to stay on at all ti—"

 

Jaejoong drapes himself over Yoochun.

 

Yoochun tries to peel him off.

 

"I can't do the thing," Jaejoong breathes into his neck.

 

"What," Yoochun squirms because his pants at least are doing the thing.

 

"If it's not you," Jaejoong whines, folding himself around Yoochun, chest to chest, crotch to crotch, "my body won't do the thing."

 

Yoochun flushes, torn between cackling and sympathizing.

 

"It has to be in you," Jaejoong explains unnecessarily, tone overdramatic, "or it doesn't come out."

 

Trembling with embarrassment, Yoochun shoves him aside. "That's gross."

 

"It's gross," Jaejoong agrees, rubbing at the curve of his shoulder with a pout. "Let me show you something."

 

"NO," Yoochun jerks away, shielding his eyes.

 

But Jaejoong only moves to the tiny corner makeup desk and boots up a staffer's laptop.

 

Helplessly curious, Yoochun takes a seat next to him, staring at the screen.

 

"You're not very photogenic," Jaejoong accuses plaintively, opens several tabs, and saves a couple of Yoochun's best headshots. Then he mouses over to a sleek brand website and clicks on his own picture, looking like a professional fucking supermodel.

 

Surprised, Yoochun raises both eyebrows, turning to stare at Jaejoong's jaw.

 

"I'm pretty famous," Jaejoong insists, salty.

 

Yoochun turns back to the screen, noticing the _top designer_ tag under Jaejoong's bio blurb. "Oh. Well. I'm not really into fashion."

 

"Yeah, I can tell," Jaejoong mumbles, then drops both their pictures into a new tab.

 

A progress bar fills slowly and Yoochun really doesn't have time for—

 

Gradually, a morphed image loads, an eerie combination of his own familiar features overlapping Jaejoong's.

 

"Okay..." he hears himself say, intrigued, "...that's... not bad."

 

Satisfied, Jaejoong nods.

 

"Not that this will entice me to—" Yoochun adds hastily but his eyes dart back to the screen.

 

"No," Jaejoong agrees with a noticeably manipulative sniffle, "but it gives you... a general idea..."

 

Yoochun appropriates the mouse.

 

"What," Jaejoong frowns as Yoochun searches the web for a picture of Junsu where he's not sneezing at a parishioner or ripping his pants while delivering communion. "Who's that," Jaejoong grumbles grudgingly, growing kind of possessive, "no, you can't have a—it will only work with _me_ ," he bats at the screen as though trying to separate Yoochun's picture from Junsu's, "Yoochun, stop—stop—Yoochun—"

 

"No, wait, I'm gonna morph him with a cat."

 

 

*

 

"Okay, but what if," Yoochun starts, hounding Junsu around the altar.

 

"No," Junsu cautions, lighting a candle.

 

"He's really beautiful?" Yoochun manages, sounding ridiculous even to himself, pointedly avoiding the judgmental stares radiating off the marble statues of crestfallen saints lined up behind him. "So our children would potentially look okay?"

 

"CHILDREN??"

 

"...child..." Yoochun blinks, horrified. "One child. One."

 

Disgusted, Junsu shakes his aspergillum at Yoochun, sprinkling holy water everywhere.

 

It kinda burns, so Yoochun fishes out a printout and tells Junsu, "Here's what your kittens would look like."

 

 

*

 

 

"No, literally if _I_ had the baby," Yoochun says. "Me."

 

Yoohwan sighs, half a baby bootie dangling off his needles. "You need to stop accepting makjang scripts."

 

"Me and this guy," Yoochun insists, plastered next to Yoohwan on the couch, and shoves his phone in his face. "If I had it with him."

 

Yoohwan stares for a moment.

 

Then goes back to knitting with an unimpressed, "He could do so much better than you, hyung."

 

 

*

 

 

"Okay," Junsu says, grim, and palms Yoochun's coffee table, shifting to mediator mode, "you promise to wait until Yoochunnie's drama wraps."

 

Jaejoong hangs his head, depressed. "Yes."

 

"And you," Junsu turns to Yoochun then falters, face crumbling. "...I can't do this. You can't have a baby with an incubus, it's not natural—"

 

Jaejoong scowls.

 

"— _marriage_ should come first," Junsu finishes.

 

Yoochun stares.

 

Jaejoong stares.

 

"You know that's not legal, right," Yoochun deadpans. "And also, _that's_ your problem with this?"

 

Prim, Junsu adjusts his white collar. "Marriage _first_."

 

Jaejoong sends a pleased smile at Junsu, apparently filled with sudden undeserved camaraderie.

 

"Well," Yoochun drawls, fed up, "I obviously can't _marry_ him."

 

Jaejoong opens his mouth to interject.

 

"And," Yoochun adds flippantly because it can't hurt to add a slightly-untrue layer of protection even a demon may respect, "I'm basically already married anyway."

 

A row of votive candles melts spontaneously, wax bubbling through the center of Yoochun's expensive coffee table.

 

Expressionless, Jaejoong crosses his arms so painfully slowly even Junsu flinches, then offers a sarcastic little, "Sure, yeah, me, too."

 

Yoochun twitches.

 

Oh, really.

 

Really. Really, the incubus is married.

 

Fine.

 

Fine, then he can just—

 

Junsu pinches him, hard.

 

"Yoochun," he whispers disapprovingly, " _that_ doesn't count—you made me officiate but I was only six years old—"

 

"Yeah," Yoochun whispers back, leaning in closer, "but you became a priest eventually so it's basically totally binding, right—"

 

Fuming silently, Jaejoong shoves them apart with way more force than necessary.

 

"I didn't see anything about a wife or a fiancée in your interviews," he demands with quiet predatory calm.

 

Coughing, Yoochun regroups. "People in the industry tend to keep secrets well..."

 

Jaejoong stares dangerously. "And I didn't see any of her things at your apartment."

 

"Well," Yoochun hedges, scratching the back of his neck, "we're... estranged at the moment."

 

Pupils blown, lips parted, Jaejoong watches him for a long moment.

 

Then disappears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jaejoong doesn't need to do this.

 

He just needs to put a baby in some stranger and get his life back. He doesn't need to feel guilty. He doesn't need to get attached. He doesn't need to overthink any of this. It's not like he'll remember once it's over. It's not like he wants a kid. Or Yoochun.

 

So he's not entirely sure why he half-assedly updates a very skeptical administrator, then quickly skedaddles out of hell to convene an emergency family dinner.

 

Aiming for subtle, he slices into half a head of raw cabbage and asks three nearest noonas, "Would you rather I die or have a kid."

 

"DON'T BE SO MELODRAMATIC," youngest noona explodes, heavily pregnant and clearly hormonal, missing the chopping board by a good twenty centimeters and pointing the knife tip at Jaejoong's face, "IF YOU DON'T WANNA GET MARRIED, DON'T GET MARRIED."

 

"What she means is," eldest noona clarifies with a soothing backrub, carefully edging the knife away, "it's not unusual for young fashion designers like you to adopt."

 

"No," Jaejoong starts, resigned, already regretting so many things, "I'm not g—"

 

"Yeah," middle noona agrees, fileting a fish with the kind of precision a serial killer would envy, "you guys aren't exactly expected to get married these days." Off Jaejoong's offended huff, because fucking honestly, Jaejoong is _not_ —, "Plus, you're already sort of married, right."

 

"What."

 

"You dragged some kid home when you were six," youngest noona reminds and a sharp stab of recollection spreads through Jaejoong, a vague faded memory solidifying into a tangible comfort, "and you just walked up to Father and told him you found your forever person and how you'd work hard on giving him grandchildren soon."

 

Horrified, Jaejoong chops faster. "...what did Father say."

 

"Well," eldest noona mumbles, avoiding eye contact, "...we moved..."

 

Even for an incubus tasked with putting a baby in a dude, Jaejoong burns up with a significant amount of shame.

 

"I don't remember," he lies, sudden rush of nostalgic affection mixing with complete humiliation.

 

"It was kind of cute," middle noona allows, mouth twitching. "You just knocked on our door holding hands and told us you'd get a baby and be a proper family..." her face falls, "and then you guys showed up with an actual baby and we had to call the cops and move. But other than that."

 

Slack-jawed, Jaejoong processes the information.

 

"Well," eldest noona shrugs dismissively, "anything's fine as long as you don't do something that stupid again."

 

 

*

 

Terminally stupid, Jaejoong phases into Yoochun's apartment, laden with bags.

 

"I need to drink," he greets, denial finally shattering because he's been a weird fuck-up since he was a _kid_ , literally ruining lives, what the actual fuck, "a lot."

 

Yoochun brightens instantly, then quickly deflates. "No... I know a trap when I see one..."

 

Jaejoong sidesteps him to get to the fridge.

 

"For you," he says and proffers a stack of pretty bento boxes and a soft white Moldir hoodie.

 

"Are you bribing me," Yoochun asks suspiciously but peels the lid off one container and sniffs.

 

"I have a year," Jaejoong says instead. "I'm going to live it well."

 

Yoochun pauses, eyes widening a fraction.

 

"Better a short meaningful life," Jaejoong reasons aloud, "than a long pointless one, right."

 

"...you're giving up," Yoochun asks softly, placing the box on the counter.

 

"Hell's really not that bad," Jaejoong shrugs because he can't say he'd rather not forget things like sitting next to Yoochun and looking up cats to crossbreed with a priest, and because apparently Yoochun has a wife or a fiancée somewhere and Jaejoong is just totally cool with that, not at all jealous, perfectly fine, and, "if they already have access to tablets maybe they can get a couple extra fireplaces, too—"

 

"Look," Yoochun snaps, snatching the hoodie and clutching it like a pillow, "what happened in the shower that one time—I'm not—I'm _good_ in bed," he flushes attractively, eyes downcast, voice thick with the need to prove himself, "I'm very good, so—"

 

Flustered, Jaejoong meets his eyes.

 

"Plus," Yoochun argues fiercely, "won't _I_ die, too."

 

No, Jaejoong means to say because that part's totally made up, so he opens his mouth to apologize.

 

"No, I'm definitely gonna choose," Yoochun says first, discards the hoodie, and unzips Jaejoong's jeans, "life."


	3. Chapter 3

"No—we agreed," Jaejoong manages weakly, fending Yoochun off with a pained self-sacrificing moan, "to wait until after your drama e—"

  


"It's not like I'd start showing soon anyway," Yoochun insists and yanks Jaejoong's jeans down with surprising force, "it's fine, let's just—" he struggles with Jaejoong's briefs, panting, eyes hooded, movements deceptively lazy but insistent, an embarrassed greedy softness twisting his features, "I figure I can be the little spoon today and you can be the little spoon tomorrow—just so—just so it's fair—"

  


Helpless, Jaejoong hardens beyond comfort.

  


"Or," Yoochun amends politely, pushing Jaejoong's shirt up, seeming completely devastated, "I could be the little spoon today and then you could be the little spoon also today."

  


Fucking _fuck_.

  


"I want to," Yoochun starts with a breathless husky grunt and shoves Jaejoong's briefs down his hips, "just," he palms the swell of Jaejoong's bare ass, squeezing, "get it over with."

  


Stupidly, Jaejoong doesn't want that.

  


But he wants Yoochun.

  


Logic and body at war, he tries to tug his jeans and briefs back up but his cock protests violently, pulsing like it's going to detach itself and stubbornly continue on its own, "Not—Yoochun—not today."

  


"Today," Yoochun whines, pawing at the zipper.

  


_Fuck_ , Jaejoong groans and phases out of the room.

  
  


*

  


"Are you shitting me."

  


His cock remains rock-hard, slips from his loosely-fisted grip, and slaps against his bare belly with a wet sloppy slide, its head bobbing with a sort of unimpressed listless shrug-like _meh_.

  


Frustrated, Jaejoong growls at the ceiling, unfulfilled, throbbing, miserable.

  


*

  


"Can I spin the wheel again."

  


The administrator glances up from its tablet, screen set to candy crush, notices the state of Jaejoong's straining skinny jeans, then scrunches up its nose. "No."

  


"I don't want to forget," Jaejoong mumbles.

  


The administrator sighs.

  


" _I don't wanna die_ ," it mimics without sympathy, " _I don't wanna be an incubus_ ," it waves a furry wrist, " _I don't wanna put a baby in my man_." Its tail stabs at the ground, one sharp tip slicing through cracked igneous rocks. "You realize this is hell, right."

  


Jaejoong realizes and he doesn't totally understand why he's being so fucking idiotic about something fairly simple but somewhere in his hindbrain, there's a dusty old attic; a makeshift podium made of empty apple crates and an aisle runner made of toilet paper and a boy's tiny hand holding his over a worried, echoing _so hyung's mine forever right_ , and there is also Yoochun's dressing room and Yoochun's bed—there is Yoochun.

  


"What are my options."

  


*

  


"—about last night," Yoochun apologizes as soon as the door slams open, mortified as usual, flushed and squirming by the makeup desk, "I was a little—"

  


On a mission, Jaejoong kicks the dressing room door closed, aiming for Yoochun with purpose.

  


"...okay, yeah," Yoochun nods, chest hitching with realization, and adds a low, challenging, "come on."

  


"I have no choice," Jaejoong explains hotly and strips his shirt off, bounding across the room, "but to fuck you."

  


"Oh god," Yoochun says and holds out a hand, palm raised like a stop sign, chin down, throat bobbing nervously. "Wait."

  


Undeterred, Jaejoong walks into the improvised barricade, presses the heated skin of his midsection against the cold firm barrier of Yoochun's palm, and meets Yoochun's eyes. "I have to."

  


With a distracted nod, Yoochun lowers his hand, fingers brushing against the waistband of Jaejoong's criminally unfashionable sweats because everything else feels like a cheese grater against his crotch and—

  


" _Ah_ ," he moans and slumps against Yoochun as Yoochun slips his hand in and wraps shaky fingers around Jaejoong's cock, "Yoo—chunnie—"

  


"No talking," Yoochun replies authoritatively, sheathing him in a lax uncertain grip. He pauses for a moment to frown, then gives a steady impatient stroke, thumb plugging the slit, sliding through precome.

  


Jaejoong's been hard for so long, too long, unreasonably long, so he can't process the sensations—an itchy desperate surge ripping through his muscles, familiar and not—nor stop them. Relief unravels from below his navel as Yoochun settles on a quick perfect pace and Jaejoong's body gives up.

  


"Oh," he breathes out, spurting through Yoochun's fingers and staining his sweater, grateful, relieved, profoundly satisfied. "Oh. Oh. In you. _In you_ includes your hands, too."

  


Disappointed, Yoochun looks at his palm with disgust, fingers coated and sticky.

  


He opens his mouth with a combative scowl but Jaejoong sobers instantly and decides now would be a good time to—

  


—disappear.

  


*

  


The need to fuck Yoochun straight through to hell returns roughly an hour later.

  


Which is embarrassing because it means Jaejoong has to wait half a day for filming to finish and then slink back into Yoochun's apartment and justify his flip-floppy escape.

  


"There was..." he greets, ashamed, contrite, phasing into Yoochun's dark bedroom, "...an emergency... in hell?"

  


Yoochun ignores him, curled up under two blankets like a weirdly geometric lump.

  


Jaejoong clears his throat, uneasy.

  


The blankets shift.

  


A mess of short wavy locks spills over the pillow, a pair of angry guarded eyes glaring over the covers. "I've been thinking."

  


"Oh no," Jaejoong mourns, shuffling closer, prepared to repent.

  


"Maybe," Yoochun starts prudently, " _in me_ means my mouth, too."

  


Jaejoong turns to stone.

  


His cock tries to come on its own, the recently-familiar _meh_ hitting some kind of instant switch and driving straight past to _fuck yeah_ , but his body shakes through a dry painful spasm, tearing a soft hopeful moan from his lips. "Yoochun—"

  


"Maybe," Yoochun repeats, flushed, "we can avoid having real sex and I can keep _some_ dignity—"

  


"No," Jaejoong protests, trying not to pounce.

  


Determined, Yoochun sits up, covers peeling off and revealing an incredibly unattractive pajama set. "It makes no sense a dude could get pregnant anyway so it probably doesn't matter... which end you... do the... thing in, right. So... maybe my mouth—"

  


All Jaejoong can honestly hear is _in_ _my mouth_ so he shamelessly drops his sweats to the ground and hastily steps out of them, climbing into Yoochun's bed with the kind of need even he finds unusual.

  


Awkward, Yoochun backs up against the footboard, positioning himself as far away as he physically can. "Fuck. Okay."

  


With a needy mortified grunt, Jaejoong tucks himself against the headboard and haltingly spreads his knees, back cushioned by very soft pillows.

  


...he'll probably have to buy Yoochun new ones.

  


"Ugh," Yoochun groans, grossed out and staring at Jaejoong's cock, which is stupidly sending him a happy friendly salute, "I don't want to put my mouth on that."

  


"You said you were good in bed," Jaejoong complains, hands fisting in the sheets, heart racing.

  


Yoochun frowns.

  


"No," he says, eyes narrowing. "I said I was very good."

  


Jaejoong inhales sharply, cock pulsing.

  


Focused, Yoochun makes a face but scoots closer and slowly bends his head, hands anchoring on each side of Jaejoong's hips. He hesitates, then parts his lips. Eager, Jaejoong's stupid cock lightly smacks Yoochun on the nose in its rush to say _hi take me_.

  


Offended, Yoochun makes a cute huffy nose and finally nuzzles the head, tongue poking out with a quick disciplined lick.

  


"Oh," Jaejoong gasps as Yoochun laps at him like a cat doing very complicated math in its head, "you're—ah, really bad at this—" rough, Yoochun takes him in, hot, sloppy, wet, his fat bottom lip sliding down the shaft with perfect slick pressure, deeper, slicker, smoother than Jaejoong expected.

  


"Fu—fuck," he rasps out, startled, and thrusts into Yoochun's mouth without restraint, pushed to the edge of a surprise orgasm, need uncurling through him with a powerful jolt.

  


Yoochun's mouth slides up, breath hot, lips obscenely wet and sticky and then he's expertly wrapping his fingers around Jaejoong's thighs and pulling his entire body down off the pillows and draping one of Jaejoong's legs over his shoulder for better access, for a better angle, tongue alternately flattening and curling against the underside of Jaejoong's cock.

  


Jaejoong spills, helpless.

  


Yoochun coughs through it, eyes tightly shut, hands anxiously flexing at Jaejoong's hips, throat working.

  


A fucked up sense of satisfaction pools in Jaejoong's gut with each labored swallow.

  


Cheeks dark, Yoochun releases him with an inexperienced messy pop and wipes at his mouth in disgust. "Yeah, okay. I'm never doing that again."

  


Short on breath, Jaejoong tries to reason; still hard and still greedy, smug and unsure at once, and asks, kind of hurt, "Aren't you hard."

  


Yoochun meets his eyes with pearl-clutching horror. "There's no way I'd get hard with you."

  


"...the shower..."

  


"THAT WAS..." Yoochun backpedals, shoving the blankets away, "I was already—that had nothing to do with YOU specifically—"

  


"...you said... spoons...."

  


Yoochun kicks him off the bed.

  


*

  


"...so, incubus, can you hear a heartbeat or something," Yoochun murmurs once Jaejoong sneaks back into his bed and wraps around Yoochun like shark jaws. "Is it... done."

  


Jaejoong burrows between Yoochun's shoulder blades, stupidly ready for more. "I'm pretty sure there won't be a heartbeat for weeks."

  


There's a moment of silence and then Yoochun is pawing under his freshly-changed pillow for the phone. "Look it up."

  


Jaejoong sniffles, searching, Yoochun's phone a familiar weight in his palm. "Yeah. It says weeks."

  


It says so many other things Jaejoong would rather not read to a man, so he surreptitiously deletes the page and tucks the phone back under the pillow, offering a pouty, "Are you saying you want to wait a few weeks before we do this again."

  


"We're not doing this again," Yoochun growls, curled on his side, stubbornly trying to nudge Jaejoong off the mattress.

  


"Well," Jaejoong digs his chin into the curve of Yoochun's shoulder, "I don't think we can make a baby just with... that."

  


"REALLY," Yoochun snaps and turns around, furious. "And ass-babies make more sense?"

  


No, Jaejoong thinks, but there's no way he's doing this anyway.

  


Something inside him, something primal, instinctive, suspicious, is telling him he can't; warning him that if he forgets this time—if he forgets again—it's over, forever.

  


But his body wants to wreck Yoochun.

  


Unbidden, his hands snake around to cup Yoochun's ass, word vomit no longer at bay, "So, what, if it did work, you'll just raise the kid by yourself?"

  


"I told you," Yoochun insists, batting Jaejoong's hands away and inching his hips away, "I have someone."

  


Jaejoong tenses.

  


Yoochun stops struggling, mouth twitching into a lopsided fond grin. "This could actually work out perfectly for me."

  


A sharp intense pain stabs at Jaejoong's chest.

  


*

  


"Will I forget right away."

  


The administrator looks up from its tablet, displeased. "Why can't I beat this level."

  


"Will it happen when he's knocked up," Jaejoong demands, hands in his pockets, and kicks at a femur by his feet, "or when it's born or—"

  


"...what does it _matter_ ," the administrator asks incredulously.

  


Jaejoong flinches.

  


"It matters."

  


*

  


"Crossed with a chihuahua," Yoochun laughs, laptop wobbly on his chest.

  


Sprawled on the couch next to him, Jaejoong glances at the screen at yet another priestly abomination.

  


"Is it Junsu," he asks softly, eyes dark.

  


"Is what Junsu," Yoochun blinks, turning his head, fingers paused over the keyboard.

  


"Are you going to raise the kid with Junsu," Jaejoong says, aiming for casual but sounding like hellfire's licking at the couch. "You can't. Not with a priest."

  


"Yeah," Yoochun agrees, deadpan. "You're right. An incubus makes more sense."

  


Jaejoong scowls, bitter.

  


He's going to be thrown away.

  


Yoochun's going to throw him away.

  


He presses closer, nuzzling into Yoochun's neck.

  


"Do you," Yoochun starts, peeling him off with an uneasy grunt, "need to be here all the time."

  


"It's not like I want to," Jaejoong shrugs.

  


"Right, it's the rules," Yoochun sighs, closing the laptop. "Want some ramyun?"

  


"Yes," Jaejoong perks up, then frowns. "It's 2:00 AM."

  


"I'm eating for two," Yoochun grins and Jaejoong's heart lurches, "it's fine."

  


"...you're not pregnant..."

  


Yoochun levels him with an unimpressed stare. "So fuck me already."

  
  
  


* * *

  


 

"He doesn't want to."

  


"What," Junsu asks innocently, high atop a ladder, dusting a row of old candelabras.

  


"He doesn't want to," Yoochun repeats, pacing the vestibule, every last inch of him poised to snap.

  


"He doesn't want to what," Junsu frowns, feather duster snagging on a jagged piece of bronze.

  


"Fuck me."

  


The feather duster clatters to the stone floor.

  


"I can't do this anymore," Yoochun growls, running an agitated hand through his hair. "I don't want to die and I don't want him to die and I don't want to pop out a kid and it's not like I _want_ him to fuck me anyway—and my back is cold without him, I'm so fucking mad, Junsu—"

  


Junsu stares from above, robes fluttering in the breeze, color drained from his face.

  


"Well..." he starts tactfully, "a child is a blessing from... let's say... god?" He looks up at the ceiling, unsure. "But if the succubus doesn't want to—"

  


"Incubus," Yoochun corrects, offended. "He's an incubus."

  


Junsu pauses.

  


"Look," he snaps, hopping down and collecting his feather duster, "I've been reading up on this, and it's possible you're suffering from succubus poisoning—"

  


"He's an incubus."

  


Junsu's jaw clenches. "...incubus poisoning."

  


"Maybe," Yoochun nods, feverish, because that would totally explain why Yoochun can't think of anything else, why his mouth wants to trace a path all around that weird skinny body, why he wants to suck on that stupid birthmark, why the universe has suddenly decided to shrink down to just Jaejoong, why he has to fucking _lie_ about the state of his endless paralyzing arousal. "How do I get cured."

  


Junsu averts his eyes. "You... let the... um. You let him die."

  


Yoochun pales.

  


"Well, technically," Junsu defends sheepishly, "it says... _kill_ the incubus."

  


*

  


Jaejoong's napping by the time Yoochun comes home.

  


Yoochun's exhausted and his makeup feels heavy and his shoulders ache and Jaejoong's draped across Yoochun's carpet, on his back, arms over his face, wearing a pair of Mickey boxers and a matching Minnie t-shirt.

  


Yoochun drops his car keys, toes off his shoes, crosses into the living room, and sinks to his knees.

  


Miserable, he gently lifts the hem of Jaejoong's t-shirt up and burrows his head under it, smushing his cheek against Jaejoong's sleep-warm chest.

  


Jaejoong startles.

  


Yoochun can hear his heart kick in his chest so he murmurs, "It's a matter of principle."

  


Jaejoong's heart speeds up under Yoochun's cheek, arms moving to encircle the cocoon atop him, voice thick with sleep. "What."

  


"Last time," Yoochun says into warm smooth skin, "it wasn't good."

  


Jaejoong's cock seems to disagree, hardening beneath Yoochun's stomach.

  


"So I have to redo it," Yoochun says and finds himself mouthing at a pert pink nipple.

  


Jaejoong shivers, arms tightening around Yoochun.

  


Sleepy, Yoochun flicks his tongue, hint of teeth scraping down the areola, and it's debasing to do this to a man, probably, but Jaejoong's arching off the carpet, fingers clutching at Yoochun's head through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, and as long as Yoochun doesn't have to see that face, rapt with pleasure, or those eyes, focused so intensely—

  


"Yoochun," Jaejoong warns, knee thumping against Yoochun's hip, "this isn't going to make a—"

  


Yoochun bites down.

  


"Yoochun," Jaejoong tries again, less composed, shaking beneath him.

  


Yoochun slips a hand between them, slowly dragging Jaejoong's boxers down.

  


"It's because you're an incubus," he explains gruffly, voice muffled, and licks a path down Jaejoong's ribs.

  


Jaejoong shakes apart under his mouth.

  


*

  


"Yoochun."

  


Yoochun wakes up to Jaejoong curled around him, atop him, crotch pressed to Yoochun's ass, the firm fat length of his cock sliding between Yoochun's slippery thighs, slow, patient, experimental.

  


"It's because," Jaejoong breathes into his ear, sounding equal parts desperate and defensive, "I'm an incubus."

  


Instinctively, Yoochun arches, pushing his ass up even though this is totally not... stimulating or a turn-on or a thing he wants—

  


Jaejoong pushes in to the first knuckle, slicked up and warm.

  


Yoochun bites the pillow, trembling.

  


It feels weird and intrusive but it's fine, it's just a means to an end, a thing that has to happen, and only once is okay probably, so Yoochun shifts, drawing a knee to the side, angling himself.

  


Another finger presses in slowly, kindling a bright painful burn.

  


And then a shiny foil packet smacks to the pillow by Yoochun's cheek.

  


Instantly offended and surprisingly hurt, Yoochun bucks the idiot off with a low, growly, " _Condom_?"

  


Jaejoong looks vaguely shy.

  


"You," Yoochun grits out, sitting up, "contraception literally means _anti_ -pregnancy, did you... forget what you're supposed to—"

  


Jaejoong turns his head, meticulously studying the sheets. "Well. I thought we could. Practice first...?"

  


Frustration at maximum, Yoochun drags a hand down his face.

  


"I don't want to," he snaps belligerently, "how many times do I have to tell you. I'm straight. And I don't want you. Stop using me, I don't want—"

  


Jaejoong doesn't look at him.

  


Quietly, he slips off the bed, naked and stupidly beautiful, and grabs for a shirt.

  


"No," Yoochun warns and yanks him back, pinning him to the mattress, "you're not going anywhere until this is done and over with."

  


Jaejoong struggles for a moment, then meets Yoochun's eyes with a stubborn hurt glare and disappears in a veil of twisting smoke.

  


*

  


"I'm out of lotion."

  


Junsu glances up from his desk, bible opened before him. "...how dry are your hands—oh. Oh. No, see, I don't need to know these t—"

  


"It's been four days," Yoochun announces and slumps into the chair opposite Junsu, burying his head in his hands with a miserable sigh, "since he left."

  


"Oh. So. The incubus—did his... thing?" Junsu surmises, patient, then slides open a desk drawer and pulls out a budget set of pacifiers with a pointed side-eye to a crucifix by the door. "Congratulations."

  


"I'm out of lotion because my body's fucked up," Yoochun corrects.

  


Done, Junsu re-pockets the pacifiers.

  


"Did your books say anything about this," Yoochun asks desperately, turning bleary eyes to Junsu. "Because I can't sleep."

  


Without the heat of Jaejoong's dumb body on his back, without that stupid voice and those awful hands, Yoochun's been a restless unfulfilled mess, and no amount of flirting with noonas on set has alleviated the urge to curl up and nap... in... a furnace...

  


"You need to open up a portal."

  


Junsu balks. "What."

  


"To hell," Yoochun explains rationally, "so I can talk to him."

  


Junsu pauses.

  


Blasé, he adjusts his collar, then calmly points out, "You want me, a devout priest, to somehow open up a magical portal to hell so you can talk a dead man into putting a baby in you."

  


...well, when he puts it that way...

  


*

  


Two more days pass before Yoochun decides to just fuck off and beg.

  


He calls in a favor and then fifteen to find a stylist with real tangible connections at Moldir and then Yoochun's standing at the front desk of a tall glass building, overdone and overpriced luggage slumping against extravagant display cases all around him.

  


"We're very sorry," the receptionist says professionally but her deskmate is shamelessly snapping pictures of Yoochun and frantically rummaging for a pen, "our director cannot... at present... time—" she shoves the other girl out of the way, ambushing Yoochun with his newest headshot, "please sign mine first."

  


*

  


Stalking the place is out of the question.

  


Mainly because his own stalkers are gathering around the building, trickling into the lobby and blowing up twitter, and so Yoochun's bodyguard casts him a _give me a raise_ look and then Yoochun's dragging his feet to the car, disappointed.

  


He spends the entire ride home with his head against the window, finally realizing that behind the shitty incubus deal, beyond the utter ridiculousness of the situation, Jaejoong is a real person.

  


With his own life.

  


One that doesn't include Yoochun in any capacity.

  


Which is totally fine.

  


*

  


"If I pray hard enough, will I get his phone number."

  


Junsu heaves a heavy tortured sigh, turning around with a stack of dry communion wafers. "Yeah. I think god's not going to be taking your calls for the foreseeable future but I asked my hyung because he's thinking of signing a modeling contract with Mol—"

  


Yoochun bulldozes half of the room to get to that tiny proffered piece of paper, lungs ablaze.

  


*

  


He waits for midnight, then hunkers down with two blankets and his phone.

  


Cross-legged, he leans on his knees and contemplates several good attention getters but easily settles on:

  


_0:01: i guess we're having triplets?_

  


Four seconds later, the lamp on his nightstand shatters to the floor as Jaejoong trips over the wire and rushes for Yoochun's shoulders, a broken little whine echoing through the room.

  


"You can't," he pleads, eyes shining, "Yoochun, I was _so_ careful—you can't be."

  


Yoochun's heart lurches, fingers greedily wrapping around Jaejoong's wrists. "I'm not."

  


Jaejoong pauses, searching Yoochun's face.

  


Then he groans, collapsing to the bed and curling up atop a blanket like an abandoned kitten and Yoochun's been just hella conditioned over the past month, okay, so he stretches out next to him, mirroring his pose.

  


"Look," he starts warily, "I don't want to die."

  


Jaejoong opens his mouth, then closes it with a guilty flinch.

  


"And you don't want to die," Yoochun adds, logic buffering. "Plus, I want a kid so let's be mature about this."

  


Looking vulnerable, Jaejoong makes a face. "What if I don't want my kid to be raised by your wife."

  


Yoochun bites back a crooked grin because it'd be a little ridiculous to hunt down a boy he play-married twenty-four years ago, so he says, a little too nonchalantly, "Don't you have one, too. You said—"

  


Jaejoong groans.

  


Which is not a denial.

  


Which, of course, is totally not a problem.

  


Jaejoong can have a wife. He can have five, who gives a shit.

  


This whole thing is just a fucking transaction, not a fucking relationship.

  


Jaw clenched, Yoochun reaches out to firmly grab Jaejoong's crotch. "This is mine temporarily."

  


Jaejoong's lips part, pupils blown.

  


"Fine," he says, clipped, pawing at Yoochun's junk in return, "then this is mine."

  


*

  


"What happened to the _I have to be here every night_ rule," Yoochun asks, perhaps accusingly.

  


Jaejoong cuddles more aggressively, murmuring into Yoochun's nape, "Guess I'll have to compensate during the day."

  


*

  


Jaejoong wants to go to some pretentious awful fashion exhibit.

  


So Yoochun's four hours late to work.

  


*

  


"You're a _hyung_ ," Yoochun scowls, looking up from his phone between scenes.

  


Jaejoong, now a permanent fixture on set, sighs.

  


"Hyung," Yoochun repeats, uncomprehending.

  


*

  


A week of the least sexual, most sexually-tense, relationship in the universe and Jaejoong shows up on set with a newborn.

  


Yoochun's heart stops.

  


"...is that... ours... where did it come..." he pats himself down frantically, "out of. Did I already... have... it, fuck, hyung, did I forget my own child, did I time-skip—"

  


Jaejoong cracks up, almost dropping the fluffy panda-eared bundle.

  


"My nephew," he greets, mouth twitching uncontrollably.

  


"Oh."

  


Slightly disappointed, Yoochun takes a few wary steps forward and inspects the baby.

  


And then steals the baby.

  


"No," Jaejoong complains, grabbing at air, "I'm trying to talk you out of wanting one because my noonas are always trying to pawn their kids off on—"

  


Yoochun tucks the baby closer, supporting his tiny panda head and folding his little feet into the warmth of his sweater.

  


Jaejoong shuts up, expression unreadable.

  


*

  


"I thought about adopting one."

  


Jaejoong glances at him out of the corner of his eye as Yoochun changes the diaper atop a horrified director's briefcase. "What."

  


"I was gonna adopt a kid with my mom," Yoochun shrugs, trying to wrestle tiny chubby legs back into an illegally cute onesie.

  


"...that's weird, Yoochunnie."

  


Huffy, Yoochun buttons the onesie up. "Okay, _incubus_."

  


Jaejoong smiles, elbow brushing Yoochun's.

  


*

  


"He so cuuuuuuuuute," four of the coordis coo, swarming.

  


Yoochun puffs out his chest with undeserved pride, adjusting his hold on the kid, a fat little cheek comfortably smushed against his sweater, baby bottle snug in his back pocket.

  


"You're going to be ~such a good father one day," one coordi says, hearts in her eyes, invitation as subtle as a twelve-car pileup.

  


Jaejoong shoulders past her, bristling.

  


"You should really think about having one of your own ~soon," another coordi suggests, trying to engage the baby and sending Yoochun a sultry glance.

  


Jaejoong paces back, expression icy.

  


Smug, Yoochun darts a quick boastful look his way.

  


"You, too, Jaejoong-ssi," a third coordi says, sidestepping Yoochun to skim her fingers down Jaejoong's arm, "it'd be a tragedy to let your genes go to waste~"

  


Yoochun glowers, shuffling over to press to Jaejoong's side, accidentally radiating sudden hostility.

  


All four noonas slowly back away.

  


*

  


Thirteen hours later, Jaejoong glances at his phone, passed out next to Yoochun on the couch, covered in baby spit, hair sticky with formula, and says, "Oh. They just noticed he's gone."

  


Yoochun pales, newborn lazing on his chest. "...did you kidnap your nephew."

  


Jaejoong winces at his phone.

  


*

  


"No," Jaejoong's fourth-eldest noona lectures, ushering them into the house, "I'm just saying it's not fair to your nieces."

  


Yoochun tries to politely hand her the baby.

  


The kid fusses, tiny uncoordinated hand grabbing at his sweater.

  


"If you take one," noona argues, "take them all."

  


Jaejoong ducks his head, contrite. "...I can't carry three of them..."

  


"Two of them can _walk_ ," noona offers tiredly and perhaps Yoochun really should reevaluate having Jaejoong's kids—a kid. One child. One baby.

  


"Oh," noona blinks, finally noticing him skulking next to Jaejoong. "It's... you."

  


Yoochun's used to the ahjumma demographic recognizing him even at his most hobo-like so he slaps on a smile, half genuinely shy, half practiced charm, and tries to atone with the promise of unlimited autographs, but noona squints at him with a slow, unsure, "...you're—"

  


The baby, still with a death grip on Yoochun's sweater, opens his tiny mouth.

  


And lets out a cranky apocalyptic noise Yoochun's only heard in old WWII movies.

  


"Oh no," Jaejoong eulogizes, skillfully extricating the baby and handing him to his sister, "no, Yoochun, Yoochun, we gotta go, we gotta go right now."

  


"What," Yoochun blinks but there's a tiny terrifying stampede of footsteps charging closer and a shrill round robin of _IS UNCLE HERE—UNCLE IS HERE_ , so Yoochun retreats obediently.

  


*

  


"Let's not have girls," he pants, Jaejoong's car seeming two epic quests away.

  


Jaejoong laughs boyishly, out of breath, car keys clattering to the gravel.

  
  


*

  


"Yeah," Yoochun drawls, opening his closet one morning, assaulted by an array of designer clothes, "these are definitely not mine."

  


Jaejoong pops up behind him, extremely pleased. "You're welcome, Yoochunnie."

  


*

  


On a Tuesday night, Yoochun shuts off the shower, spent, water dripping into his eyes.

  


The ground beneath him blurs for a moment so he reaches out to steady himself against the wall, inhaling deeply.

  


There's a dull pinch of nausea churning his stomach, which is weird because he's been eating really balanced healthy meals lately, mostly because Jaejoong's shoving them at him unsolicited, having occupied the set kitchen, so what the hell is up with this sudden bout of indigestion—

  


"You take too long in the shower," Jaejoong complains from the bed, gaze shamelessly skimming down to the towel hanging off Yoochun's hipbones.

  


Strained, he respectfully looks away, visibly turned on and probably suffering, and so Yoochun finds himself crossing the room, nausea gone.

  


"Make it fair," he says and means _I did it for you twice_ , and Jaejoong seems to translate properly because his eyes darken and his muscles tense.

  


"You said there's no way you'd get hard," he hesitates, voice raspy, but he's already sitting up and slipping his feet to the floor and reaching for Yoochun's towel.

  


"Probably won't," Yoochun lies because he's been nothing but painfully hard for weeks.

  


As though concerned Yoochun's going to change his mind, Jaejoong grabs at Yoochun's ass and tugs his hips closer, bends down, and tentatively mouths at the shaft with an achy sideways slide.

  


Buckling, Yoochun's knees smack into the bedframe as he instinctively presses closer, steadying himself against Jaejoong's muscled shoulders, burning with shame, but it doesn't matter because there's a wet rough tongue sucking a series of _mine mine mine_ up his cock, so Yoochun helplessly buries his hands in Jaejoong's hair, head thrown back, toes curling into the carpet.

  


"Hyung," he moans without meaning to and Jaejoong's throat contracts around him in turn.

  


Too sensitive, Yoochun slides his fingers lower, nails leaving pink half-moon marks across both sides of Jaejoong's neck, a matching answering _mine mine mine_ temporarily carved into Jaejoong's skin.

  


...fuck.

  


 

* * *

  
  


 

"Fuck," Junsu startles, then hastily glances at the ceiling. "Sorry, I'm sorry!"

  


Jaejoong flops down into the chair opposite him, brows drawn, legs crossed. "Who is it."

  


Junsu blinks, closing his book. "...I'm sorry?"

  


"Who is Yoochunnie married to."

  


A bead of sweat trickles down Junsu's temple.

  


"Why..." he asks cautiously, reaching for a conveniently-placed crucifix. "Are you going to... kill him, incubus?"

  


Jaejoong recoils. "Why would I kill Yoochun."

  


"Not... Yoochun," Junsu blurts then chokes, eyes wide.

  


"... _him_?" Jaejoong mutters, anger rising because not only is this estranged spouse real, it's also a—

  


"Her!" Junsu corrects. "Her. Totally a woman." He glances up at the ceiling again, miserable. "Sorry! I'm... just... sorry."

  


"He said he's straight," Jaejoong says calmly and rises, the fear of being replaced by a woman, a good healthy socially-acceptable choice—an _understandable_ choice; someone who could never do to Yoochun what Jaejoong can do to Yoochun—dissolving into the fear of being thrown away for some _guy_ —

  


"He _is_ straight," Junsu insists, jumping to his feet and scampering after him, "it was just this one time when we were six—"

  


" _I'M_ THE ONE TIME," Jaejoong shouts nonsensically and phases out.

  
  


*

  
  


"So it's a guy."

  


Yoochun places his car keys on the counter, wary. "What."

  


Jaejoong leans on one elbow, staked out by the kitchen island. "You lied to me."

  


Yoochun raises both eyebrows, looking genuinely baffled. "About."

  


Jaejoong opens his mouth to argue but he's been lying, too, and all of this is so stupid because he had to die and go to hell and become an incubus to find this person, his person, so he hops off the barstool and crosses the distance and quietly unbuttons Yoochun's shirt.

  


"...are we finally gonna fuck," Yoochun asks, expressionless, but his voice breaks a little.

  


Jaejoong removes the shirt and works Yoochun's zipper open.

  


"Here's the thing, hyung," Yoochun warns, unmoving, voice dangerously soft, "I'm getting a kid one way or another. If not with you, then—"

  


"With me," Jaejoong says, slipping his hand down Yoochun's briefs. "Just me."

  


*

  


Only a little should be safe, Jaejoong thinks.

  


"I'm going to—fuck up," he apologizes, possibly to himself, and adds another finger, slicked up and slippery, and he can do this, he has enough self-control to maybe only work the tip in, just a little bit, he doesn't have to bottom out and rut and come inside, just this little is enough—

  


"Just," Yoochun hugs the pillow closer, jaw clenched, back tense, "get it over with."

  


Helpless, Jaejoong withdraws his fingers with effort, and digs his knees into the mattress, crotch briefly brushing against Yoochun's ass.

  


"Just—just a little is okay," he babbles, distracted, nerves misfiring.

  


"All of it," Yoochun warns, shifting slightly to glare.

  


Jaejoong's cock thickens, hardens, underside sliding between Yoochun's ass cheeks, up quickly, down slowly. His elbows give out so he drapes himself across Yoochun, hips hijacking his movements. Greedy, he slides in at an angle, cockhead nudging insistently until the muscle yields, soft and wet and sucking him in.

  


"Jesus," Yoochun groans and hides his face in the pillow, hands twisting the sheets.

  


"Wrong floor," Jaejoong manages because fuck, this is too deep already, too good and so dangerous, and Yoochun can't throw him away and so Jaejoong should pull out, come in Yoochun's hands or mouth or not at all—he snaps his hips recklessly, clawing at the mattress for purchase, sinking home.

  


Yoochun jolts beneath him and lets out a hitched surprised breath, amused grin in his voice, warm and low and muffled, "...yeah, you're—you're a basement-dweller alright."

  


Struggling, Jaejoong pulls out a little, sidelined by lust, but there's no way.

  


There's no way men can have children, and sure, hell is real and phasing through walls is real, but this is impossible, so Jaejoong falls apart inside Yoochun, systematically, methodically, repeatedly.

  


*

  


"Only so it's fair," Yoochun growls in his ear.

  


"Yeah," Jaejoong agrees mindlessly when Yoochun drives into him, the small of his back splitting with a sharp painful burn.

  


*

  


Neither of them can sit for two days.

  


*

  


"...why..." Junsu squints suspiciously.

  


"Because," Yoochun explains with a patient crack of his knuckles, seated next to Jaejoong on the church couch, "that's how we'll decide who tops tonight."

  


Junsu turns his head to the window, quietly staring at the trees outside.

  


"Technically, it doesn't matter since it only decides who tops _first_ ," Jaejoong adds helpfully, trying to console him.

  


Junsu's eyes fixate on a tall white birch.

  


"Junsu," Yoochun sighs.

  


"Who's taller," Jaejoong prompts.

  


"Me, right," Yoochun argues.

  


Jaejoong bites back a grin, coaxing, " _Me_ , right, Junsu-yah."

  


Junsu opens the window.

  


And climbs out of it.

  


*

  


Jaejoong snaps a picture, buried deep, one hand on Yoochun's knee, the other surreptitiously wrapped around his phone.

  


Yoochun's eyes open, face awash with pleasure, "What—what the fuck."

  


Innocently, Jaejoong tosses the phone to the mattress, pushes against Yoochun's other knee, and moves, bending to mouth at Yoochun's collarbone.

  


"Just in case," he murmurs to himself, in case he's wrong and he forgets and needs help remembering, in case he goes back to his old life without Yoochun, in case everything goes to shit, the picture of Yoochun shifting beneath him, around him, because of him, should be, _will_ _be_ enough.

  


*

  


"Don't do that," Yoochun whines.

  


Jaejoong cups his face harder, and rolls his hips, comfortable in Yoochun's lap, clamping down with a quick affectionate bite.

  


"Okay," Yoochun pants, burying his forehead in the hollow of Jaejoong's throat, "do that."

  


*

  


"Sun's down," Yoochun greets, tossing his script behind him, "let's do it."

  


"You have filming," Jaejoong points out, licking his lips in anticipation.

  


"No, I don't," Yoochun starts. His phone rings. "...fine, I have filming but you only last two minutes anyw—"

  


Jaejoong takes his shirt off, offended.

  


*

  


Filming's delayed by three hours.

  


*

  


"...so..." the administrator says, scuffing its tail into the dust, not meeting Jaejoong's eyes, "I have some... good news."

  


Jaejoong's still a little high on Yoochun, sated and sleepy, so he beams, curious, "What."

  


The administrator pauses, clacking its teeth once and gesturing vaguely at a blazing pyre, "Due to... yet another administrative mistake, you might be reinstated as a human without procuring a cambion."

  


Jaejoong's heart slams against his ribcage. "What."

  


"I put in a request," the administrator explains, fidgeting with its tablet and looking oddly intimidated, "and you'd get to keep your memories but—"

  


Jaejoong jumps up, deliriously happy, and tries to pop straight into Yoochun's dressing room.

  


"Yeah, okay," the administrator mumbles under its breath, yanking Jaejoong back by the collar, "but there's a pretty big catch—"

  


Jaejoong checks out of the conversation, an entire life mapped out ahead of him in an instant, a lifetime of Yoochun and normalcy.

  


"...from your childhood..." the administrator says but Jaejoong's going to drop by his office and give everyone a raise and then he's going to make Yoochun lunch and then he's going to fuck him for an hour and then he's going to get fucked for an hour, "...so as long as you don't reconnect with..."

  


And Jaejoong's totally going to explain everything to Yoochun: why there's suddenly no kid or hell or amnesia.

  


He'll explain to Yoochun in five years, maybe ten, when he'll be all Yoochun knows, when he'll be under Yoochun's skin and in his blood and can't be thrown away.

  


He'll explain then.

  


"...the other thing is..." the administrator continues distantly, refreshing its tablet, "...as long as you haven't already begotten offspring—"

  


Jaejoong disappears.

  


*

  


Yoochun's napping on the couch, script over his chin and mouth, and so Jaejoong crouches by his shoulder and pulls the booklet off and presses his hand and then his mouth to Yoochun's warm forehead, kisses his entire sleepy face, and says, "New rule."

  


Yoochun's eyes flutter open.

  


Jaejoong fixates on his lips, parted, full, sleep-soft. "Hell says I have to do this starting now."

  


Yoochun's gaze softens with humor and then he's reaching out and wrapping his arms around Jaejoong's neck, bringing his mouth closer.

  


Jaejoong kisses him until nightfall.

  


*

  


"Help me paint it," Yoochun says on a rainy Saturday, decked out in a cute white Moldir hoodie.

  


Jaejoong yawns, lazing on the bed in Yoochun's oversized threadbare hobo sweater. "Paint what."

  


"There's an extra room," Yoochun yawns, too, "it'd be a great nursery."

  


Guilt pricks at Jaejoong's gut.

  


"Won't your family..." he starts, sinking deeper into the mattress, "...notice."

  


Yoochun meets his eyes, playful. "You've been here every night for three months and they haven't noticed."

  


Jaejoong shifts awkwardly, chest tight. "Isn't it... too... soon?"

  


"Hyung," Yoochun glances at his phone, then pockets it with a casual, "I already bought all the toys, so I need to put them somewhere."

  


Broody, Jaejoong gets off the bed.

  


"I wanted," he mumbles, "I wanted to do these things, too."

  


Yoochun waves him off, flippant, averting his eyes. "When you get your life back, have a kid with your wife and do those things."

  


Irrationally hurt, Jaejoong takes a deliberate step forward. "Fine. I'll do that. I'll have ten."

  


Yoochun's fingers flex at his sides.

  


And then he's pinning Jaejoong to the wall, bolting his hips into some really ugly wallpaper, and licking into his mouth with a rough possessive _hyung_ _don't_.

  


*

  


"This is Yoohwannie," Yoochun calls out when Yoohwan randomly passes by the guest room, paint cans and wall decals and crib instructions scattered everywhere. "And this is—"

  


"The guy you're having a kid with," Yoohwan rolls his eyes but gives a tiny polite bow, "yeah, alright."

  


"...Jaejoong..." Jaejoong corrects helpfully, gesturing at himself with a dripping roller.

  


Yoohwan glances between the two of them, then tells Jaejoong, unimpressed, "I can't believe you're letting my hyung do you."

  


Jaejoong grins. "...actually."

  


Yoochun makes a panicked little noise and growls in warning, paint splattering over his slippers, "No. Don't. Hyung. Don't."

  


The grin grows. "ACTUALLY."

  


Disillusioned with life, Yoohwan makes a face.

  


"I can ignore you nesting," he wilts, gesturing at the organized chaos reigning across the makeshift nursery, "and the... noises, but hyung, you're not pretty enough to bottom."

  


Jaejoong covers his mouth, trying desperately not to laugh.

  


Yoochun flushes attractively, boots Yoohwan out, and slams the door with an outraged parting, "I DON'T."

  


Irresponsibly content, Jaejoong cocks his head and discards the roller. "Liar."

  


"Hurry up and forget," Yoochun grumbles, storming past him.

  


Jaejoong's smile brightens. "And if I don't."

  


"You will," Yoochun grunts, back turned, paintbrush smacking against the wall in a weird pastel mess.

  


"And if I don't," Jaejoong tries again, softer.

  


"You have to," Yoochun shrugs, stroking the brush down.

  


Jaejoong opens his mouth to spill the truth but there's an insistent knock on the door and then there's a proffered bag of tiny knitted booties and a tray of juice and Yoochun's mother, presumably, says, "I was told there were babies."

  


Yoochun whirls around, panicked.

  


"Oh," he bumbles, nervous, and instinctively presses to Jaejoong's side as though seeking protection. "This is... uh."

  


Yoochun's mother looks up at them and scans Jaejoong's face for a long moment, then brightens and says, sounding pleasantly surprised,

  


"Jaejoongie?"


End file.
